Oxyria digyna

Oxyria digyna

OK, this is probably not a plant you will be eating very often. Mountain Sorrel (Oxyria digyna) grows in high alpine habitats (about 9000 feet and upwards), so unless you are stranded on top of a rather high mountain with no way down (down is easy; there's always a way down), there won't be much demand for it.

But I was fortunate to find an area with a good amount of healthy, tender Mountain Sorrel thriving, so it was a good time to give it a try.

The leaves when raw have a fresh, lemony taste, very much like members of the Rumex genus, but with no bitterness at all. Even so, I personally find the lemon flavor rather strong, but it might work well mixed with other greens. If you like raw Curly Dock, you will probably like this even more.

I tried boiling the leaves for about 3 minutes, because I had excellent results with cooked Curly Dock leaves. Cooking had mixed results. The bad news is that the bright green leaves turn a darker grayish-green as soon as they hit the hot water. The good news is that, just like Curly Dock, the cooking tones down the lemon flavor, and as long as you don't mind the color and limpness of the leaves, the taste is rather good. I would eat much more if the color were better... and it was more common... and it grew a few thousand feet lower...

close view of leaves and seeds

To identify this plant, first be in a very high, alpine environment. As I said, you are only likely to find this at 9000 feet and upwards. It appreciates wet places, but with all the precipitation being squeezed out of the clouds as the air moves over the mountain, it is not restricted to such places, and is often found in rocky outcroppings as well. The leaves are all basal and are about three quarters or more of a circle. The seeds are very distinctive. Unlike their cousins, the docks (Rumex species, which have three wings on seeds), these seeds have two wings so they can lay flat. They also develop a bright red color on the outside fringe of the wing.

Rudbeckia occidentalis

Rudbeckia occidentalis
(with pollinator)

Western coneflower is the most common coneflower in the mountains where I live. Unlike most other coneflowers, it lacks the showy ray-flowers that other species have at the base of the cone, such as black-eyed susans or cut-leaf coneflower. This can make it hard to identify using a botanical key, because they don't put the Rudbeckia genus in the division of Compositae which has disk flowers only. On the other hand, once you recognize it as a coneflower, there isn't any other species it could be.

I enjoy eating these young coneflowers occasionally. One should eat the very young cones, about and inch or less tall. The larger flowers become pithy and tough inside. The young flowers are tender enough to eat, and have a vaguely minty flavor.

The leaves are very bitter; not recommended. They might be better in the spring, if one can learn to identify them when they are young.

A related species (Rudbeckia laciniata) is known as "Sochan" to the Cherokee Indians. They used the early spring leaves and shoots. There are reports of them being good tasting but they do not grow this far west.

Michael Moore [Medicinal Plants of the Mountain West, p. 93] describes good results with using Rudbeckia laciniata similar to how one uses Echinacea for colds and flus. His comments are intriguing. "Unlike Echinacea, lance-leafed Coneflower stimulates secretions, respiration, and the skin and kidneys, thereby helping to excrete the very waste products its immunostimulus help create." A closely related species like Rudbeckia occidentalis is likely to have similar effects. Moore uses the roots and sometimes the leaves for medicinal purposes.

Thistle roots

Everyone in Utah knows that the early Mormon pioneers learned to dig Sego Lily bulbs from the Indians, in order to survive during the first years in Utah. It seems that few people have actually looked up those references, because most of them say the Indians taught them about Thistle roots at the same time they taught them about Sego Lily bulbs. Even though Thistle roots are much more common, and very much easier to dig up, Sego Lily has become the state flower, while Thistles are an undesirable weed. I wonder which the pioneers really ate more of?

Most common thistles are members of either the Circium genus or the Carduum genus, but there is a whole tribe, called Cynareae, which contains the extended thistle family, including star thistles, sow thistles, and other thistle-like plants. Thistles tend to be biennial, growing a low rosette of leaves the first year in order to store up energy in the root and then using that energy during the second year to send up a large flowing seed stalk. This all means you want to dig the root when the plant is in the rosette stage, and the biggest roots will be found either in the fall or in the early spring. After the seed stalk starts forming, the root is likely to be woody and inedible. (If you have ever let carrots overwinter in your garden and tried eating them the second year after the seed stalk forms, you will know what I mean.) Since plant taxonomy relies mainly on the flower to distinguish between species, this also means you might not be able to identify the exact species you are digging up. And this is not of much concern, since most common thistles are culinarily interchangeable, along with several genuses of similarly thistle-y plants, such as Cnicus (blessed thistle), Silybum (milk thistle), and Onopordum (scotch thistle). Most of the other genuses in the tribe look less like the classic thistle or do not grow in this area.

Thistle rosettes are easy to find and not very difficult to dig up, especially if you are wearing gloves. If you are not wearing gloves, just dig up the rosette as much as you can, grab it by the root, and cut off the leaves.

I experimented first with the roots of thistle, since it was spring and while the rosettes are common, the tall stalks are not. While digging them up, I often only got the top part of the root, leaving the long thin lower portion of the taproot still in the ground. I found out this was actually a good thing because those thinner parts of the root are too tough to eat, even after cooking. Raw, the roots were very tough, but could be eaten if cut into thin enough pieces. The taste was fairly bland, not bitter at all, but the toughness made me want to cook it.

After cooking for about 20 minutes, the roots had softened up and were edible. The large roots softened the most, and could be eaten like a carrot by biting off pieces. Middle sized roots were still rather fibrous, but could be eaten easily enough after chopping into pieces. Small roots were still too tough and woody to eat at all. The flavor was good enough although not exceptional. Perhaps somewhere between the taste of spinach and cauliflower, with no bitterness and even tending toward the sweet side. I noticed that the crown of the root, where the leaves join together, is especially tender and tastes better too.

Another way to enjoy thistles, is to eat the central vein of the leaf. The leaf must be picked from the plant, and the sides of the leaf with all the spines stripped off. This is fairly easy to do with gloves or with a knife, and less easy but possible with bare hands. The taste is a lot like celery, with a little bit of bitterness, but it still makes a good snack while on the trail. The smooth-skinned thistles are much better for this than the ones with a lot of hairs.

Wild Onions

Allium biceptrum

Allium acuminatum

Normally I would title my article with the latin name of the plant(s) I am talking about, so that there is no confusion about what species is being covered. But in the case of Allium, the common name is actually less confusing than the latin name. The Allium genus includes onions, garlic, shallots, chives, and leeks. But I want to talk about just the species of Allium which we call "onions", so the common name is the easiest way to be specific about that.

We have several species of wild onions in my area, including Allium acuminatum or Tapertip Onion (whose flowers are a bright purple color, fading to white with age), and Allium bisceptrum or Aspen Onion (whose flowers are pale pink). I have also tried Allium cernuum or Nodding Onion. All the wild onions are similar in taste, and the intensity of the onion flavor can vary from plant to plant within the species. It can also vary by location, because the amount of sulfur in the soil affects the flavor strongly.

Many people worry about confusing wild onions with other similar-looking plants, but I have not found it very easy to be confused, unless you are looking at young specimens before they flower, which is always difficult. The onion smell and taste are always a reliable indicator. Even if you don't want to smell or taste them to be sure, it is not that difficult. The species that are cited the most as worrisome confusors are Camas (Camassia species) and Death Camas (Zigadenus species). But both of these genuses grow their flower clusters in racemes, where the flowers branch one by one from a central stalk, instead of in an umbel, where all the flowers branch from a single point. Allium flowers come in many colors, but always cluster together in an umbel. In addition the young cluster is completely covered by a papery sheath, making the entire cluster look like a single bud. And the cluster grows on top of a "naked scape", or stem without leaves. The long and usually flat leaves rise from the same spot as the scape, from a shallow bulb.

The only thing easily confused with wild onions is Wild Hyacinth, which has bright blue flowers in an umbel, but the flowers are larger and more urn-shaped, with the bottom half of the petals united. Wild Hyacinth is also edible, but does not smell of onions.

The bulbs of wild onions are small (about 1/2 inch), which is normal for wild edibles. But the entire plant is flavorful, and it should all be used, except maybe the rootlets below the bulb. The flower stalk and leaves can be used like scallions or green onions. I have found that the flowers or unopened flower cluster is often the part with the strongest flavor. The mature flowers are also good to eat, and make an attractive and very tasty addition to any salad.

I use a lot of onions in my day-to-day cooking, so it is good you know I can find the same flavor I love in the wild as well. Onions can grow lots of places, but I find them most often in moister areas (or at least, less dry areas), and usually shaded by taller trees. They can be some of the earliest plants to grow in the spring, and are available throughout the summer.

Hydrophyllum occidentale

Hydrophyllum occidentale

Hydrophyllum occidentale, also known by the direct translation, Western Waterleaf, is a close relative to the Ballhead Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum capitatum), which I have had much better success with. Go read that article to learn about a much better edible plant.

Western Waterleaf is a larger plant, and very much a perennial. The leaves look much the same as Ballhead Waterleaf, deeply pinnately divided, with the lower divisions going all the way to the stem. The leaves are taller, and there are more of them as well. The biggest difference between Western and Ballhead, though, is that the flower clusters are below the leaves in Ballhead Waterleaf, and above the leaves in Western Waterleaf.

The root is a tangle of thickened black roots, each about the size of a bean sprout, all attached to a gnarly central perennial core. With Ballhead Waterleaf, I separated each of the roots to make cleaning easier, but with Western, I needed to pull all the roots off the central core just to make cleaning possible.

The leaves are fuzzy, but not nearly as furry as Ballhead Waterleaf. The younger ones are not bad, even raw with the fuzz on them. The older ones are a bit tougher, and have a bit of bitterness to them. I boiled them for 2-3 minutes, like I do with Ballhead Waterleaf, and they turned out rather tough; not actually stringy, but definitely tough. Even the younger ones seemed tougher. Maybe it's just because I expect to have to chew a raw leaf, but not a limp cooked leaf.

The stems are quite tough and stringy; not very edible. Quite a contrast to the nice crisp stems of Ballhead Waterleaf.

I cooked the roots for 20 minutes, just like I do with Ballhead Waterleaf, and found them to still be very tough and stringy. Even a full half hour did not help. There were a few lighter colored roots, which I assume are younger, which did turn out tender, and good to eat. But considering how few of them I found, I don't think it worth digging up the whole plant just to try to sort out a few of those from the rest.

In summary, the young leaves can be munched on if you wanted, but Western Waterleaf is in no way the 3-course feast that I have found Ballhead Waterleaf to be. Ballhead Waterleaf is much more abundant in my mountains, and so I will likely leave the stands of Western Waterleaf in peace.

Pteridium aquilinum

Pteridium aquilinum
"fiddlehead" with last year's dry fronds behind

Bracken Fern (Pteridium aquilinum) grows everywhere, all around the globe, on every continent. It is used for food in many places, but seems to have an especially strong following in Korea. Even if it is all the same species, there will be regional variations, so here is my experience with my local type.

Bracken Fern or Brake grows in large areas up in our mountains, usually along with aspen trees. The aspens grow above it, but the ferns tend to shade out most other plants. If you find it, you will find a lot of it. I found it just getting started at the end of May, when the shoots were just the right size and tenderness for picking.

The shoots are called fiddleheads, because they are young ferns, but unlike most ferns, Bracken Fern shoots do not look at all like fiddles. Instead of a spiral, the stem is bent over once, in an inverted U shape, and the fronds are curled up in two rows, getting ready to spread out on each side of the stem. It looks more like a clenched eagle claw than a fiddle. There will be plenty of dry brown fronds on the ground from the year before, so you can check some other characteristics. They are twice pinnately branching, the first time opposite or nearly opposite, the second time alternate, and then the simple leaflets form a row along each branch.

Bracken contains a known carcinogen called ptaquiloside, which is fairly volatile, and should be deactivated by cooking. Hank Shaw has a well researched description of Bracken and how to cook it on his blog, "hunter-angler-gardener-cook". It also contains a B1 inhibitor, so you may not want to eat it all the time, even if they do it in Korea. Since it is only good when sprouting, it would take a lot of effort to eat all the time anyway.

I cooked it in the manner recommended by Koreans: boil it in salt water for a few minutes, then soak it in cold water for an hour, then saute in whatever fashion you like. I tried it sauted in butter and salt, and also with sesame oil, onions, and soy sauce. But I also couldn't resist tasting a little raw and before sauteing for comparison. 

When raw, the stem is tender, fairly bland, and mucilaginous (slimy), with the outer skin being kind of crisp. The fronds are also quite tender, and have a crisp texture, without the mucilaginous quality of the stems. There is some bitterness there, but not very much.

After boiling and soaking, they are about the same, still tender, but not actually crisp any more.

Unfortunately though, the saute step seemed to bring out quite a bit of bitterness, especially as an aftertaste. I didn't enjoy them much in the butter and salt saute. (Actually, I used a soy-free margarine, because some of us here are lactose-intolerant.) The taste is like a fairly bitter, but otherwise bland, asparagus. The sesame/soy saute was better, with the strong flavors offsetting the blandness, and maybe hiding most of the bitterness.

Other people have reported much better results with this plant, so it could be that our regional variety is just not as good. In any case, the best results for me came from simply boiling them. Without the saute step, it is probably a good idea to change the water at least once.

Smilacina racemosa

Smilacina racemosa

False Solomon's Seal (Smilacina racemosa) is a great tasting spring shoot and has become one of my favorite wild foods to cook with in the spring. But in order to enjoy it, one must be able to distinguish it from the more slender and much more bitter species of False Solomon's Seal, and learn to identify it when it is young, before it is easily identifiable from the flowers. And if you miss the young shoots, this surprisingly versatile plant has several other parts which can be used as food at different times during the year.

First, one has to distinguish between Smilacina racemosa (False Solomon's Seal) and Smilacina stellata (Starry False Solomon's Seal). They look very similar, but S. stellata is much more slender in both the leaves and the stem. The biggest difference is in the flower cluster (inflorescence). S. stellata has flowers in a simple raceme, where each flower stalk branches off from a central stem. S. racemosa has flowers in a compound raceme or panicle, where there is a central stem, but instead of each stalk branching off from that having a single flower, each stalk is itself a smaller raceme of flowers.

top: S. racemosa root
bottom: S. stellata root

The roots are also noticeably different, so that might turn out to be a better way of being sure you are picking the correct species at the time when the shoots are young and tender. Both species propagate primarily by the roots, which grow horizontally an inch or two underground and send up shoots occasionally, so they are usually found growing in large colonies. The roots of S. stellata are rather ordinary looking roots, with smooth tan skin and lots of rootlets off the main root. The roots of S. racemosa are quite different looking; they are thicker and have rings giving them a segmented appearance, such that it doesn't take much imagination to see a resemblance to insect grubs. This makes it fairly easy, once you are familiar enough with the plant to identify it when it is a young shoot, to pull up some root and be sure you have the species you want.

Second, one must pick the shoots of the plant when they are very young, before the leaves have fully developed. When the leaves have spread out fully, alternating up the stem, the stem will be tough and fibrous, so it's not very good eating. But before the leaves are fully developed, when they are still in a dense cluster at the top of the stem, the stem is tender and very good eating. They are only at this stage for a short time in the spring. If you miss them, you may have to wait until next year. But if you find a colony where the leaves are open, but the flowers are not open, you might be able to look around and find a few young shoots left, or at least a few tops where the leaves are not fully open.

All of us who tried the shoots thought they were very good both raw and after steaming for 5-10 minutes. When raw, they are tender and juicy, and have a distinct flavor which we all found hard to describe. The best I way I can describe it is somewhere between "fruity" and "oniony". After steaming, they were even better. They distinctive flavor is toned down, and they taste somewhat like asparagus, but maybe even better than asparagus.

I have used the young shoots in all kinds of dishes. They work great anywhere you would use asparagus, such as in stir fry, curry, savory crepes, etc. I even tried it chopped up and fried it in a cheesesteak sandwich, where it added a really great flavor. The shoots store well in the refrigerator, where I was able to keep them for over two weeks before using them all. I have also stored them in the freezer for months before thawing and cooking them.

The leaves have a good flavor even after the stems have become tough, although they become more bitter as they get older. Still, they are never as bitter as Smilacina stellata. They can be eaten raw at any time, but I especially enjoyed the steamed cluster of leaves at the top of the young shoot, which have a slightly minty flavor to them. So don't discard the leaves before cooking the shoots; they are great too.

As the last leaves open at the top of the plant, they expose a the cluster (compound raceme) of flower buds. These have a slightly different flavor of their own, sort of like cauliflower, but more flavorful. I have used these as an interesting additional flavor for salads, or they can be cooked similar to cauliflower.

In summer and fall, you can enjoy the fruits. They are small, round or slightly lobed, and grow in clusters at the top of the plant, so you strip a bunch off at one time. In early summer, you can find the unripe fruits. When unripe they are whitish-green with little red spots. You need to pick them before the seed hardens, when they are firm instead of juicy, and have an oniony flavor which goes very well with meats. I have boiled them or fried them. They were very good fried up with a little sausage and greens such as Chenopodium album.

After the seed hardens, they have less edible flesh, and are slightly bitter. Is it best to wait until they fully ripen. However I have been able to pick them at this stage and store them in the fridge for a month or so until they ripen. I was able gather more at this time than I would be able to later when they ripen naturally, and they did not go bad during storage. 

When fully ripe they become red and juicy, but they have a large hard seed and are usually mildly bitter. The flavor is so-so at that stage, but you can make a good tasting juice by boiling them in water (about 1 part berries to 2 parts water), and then straining and adding a small amount of sugar (about 1 tsp per pint) to offset the bitterness.

But if you wait until after the first cold spell, when the leaves are turning yellow and starting to fall off, and are lucky enough to find some berries still hanging on, they can be extremely good. These late season, very ripe berries are sweet and cherry-flavored; an amazingly good flavor when you are lucky enough to find some.

I have tried the roots from this plant. Boiling for 20 minutes with a change of water rendered them marginally edible, but still very bitter, and still much too fibrous to eat.

Note that the official genus name has been changed from Smilacina (Desf.) to Maianthemum (F.H. Wigg.), so you may find more recent information under the botanical names Maianthemum racemosum and Maianthemum stellatum.